poem

from bed, fragments joined

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i don’t need to give you a beat

strip down, hold your own spoon

reading fragments, my life and mind

you should relate

ball point pens, bastardized purity

cannonballs drop and fly, one we smile

the other we die

if i provided the rhythm, sishboom-ta-sish-ma-bleepity-ba

the mistake is made

you’ll be gone, believing me

cadence in footsteps racing on moving sidewalks, bastards, i’ll say it again

there is no father, pretend

answers aren’t magic

amend, times change, however tragic

revolutions rearrange, chaotic static

pathways we once trusted

slap your knees

move your mouth, soliloquies

you don’t need me

there is no part

parting, to the end of this musical

joining the ripple

losing your need

for me to provide a beat

from bed, wrestling with the past

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

tag team matches were my favorite

the way they waited until just the right moment to slap hands, and rage on with new energy

rope shaking

coordinated uniforms

a bond taking on the world

i spent a lot of time watching them

legs crossed

sunday mornings

on-and-off eyeing last weeks doritoes crumbs hiding deep enough in green-shag-carpet pockets to be vacuum ignored, my “operation” ready pincher-fingers poking and prodding

i never ate a booger, but the red dust collateral-damage fragments found their way into my mouth

from time to time

hey, my stomach rumbled, and i couldn’t miss the match

bulldogs

warriors

bushwakers

brothers

and freebirds

i believed them, more than the moving voices thumping around in their own safe rooms behind and around me, joined together islands making a home, house, encapsulator of secrets and mirrors

alliances changed

interviews hijacked

an interpretative tussle-dance playing out on colored tubes while making sense of a childhood in real time, similarities shifted in my springtide mind (he is like him), connections made to characters

and caregivers

i, they, gave new strength and roles

i could relate

sort out the thunder from the rain

battle royals were saved for saturday nights

i hid under my covers while watching, wincing, and covering, real blood, real punishing blows, and coffin nails

they would leave

i’d get up

shaking my head

“was it real?”

from a porch, number two: trying to find peace in reality

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

doubting double-takes

going for another

it’s in the clouds, mist gathering causing a shudder from my insides out as i wander about dipping and gliding forgetting how to shout a subtle sigh pushes out my lips as the currents of air begin to rip and i finally feel eternity with no weight, now, no wait to melt into the gathering of other midnight mourning souls wishing away another breezeless night alone in smoke gathered rooms pretending we figured out our plight safety displayed in plumes that’ll fade away

eventually bringing morning, we shake that world from our consciousness

and drift through our day

from a stool, letting go ego

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i lost track

not time

the rails that keep me focused

so desperate for you to hear my calamity, joys, and distant insanity

i force these worlds over yours

i used to ask questions for you

discovering, how we are interwoven souls becoming nothing

some might say one

yet

the soul is done when hearts are hung on strings dangling from willow trees alone in fields easy for us to find

in recent days

i’ve been self absorbed

soaking in how it all relates to me

i’ll wring myself

better yet, will you clutch my being, squeeze, and choke this misguided mess of a righteous asshole i’ve become

leave the discolored filth of ego on the floor, if you can’t see it, you deserve to slip

it will evaporate in time

continuing the cycle of discovering a path

i’m committed

to forget about me

how are you?

i’m asking for a friend

there are no guides, defined ways

only open movements left up to interpretation

understood

it all means the same thing

from a couch, streamy stream

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i can’t stand to be behind what it is you do to be kind to the mental state of those around you

i talk to myself late in the night trying desperately to rewrite the codes stuck on spindly dendrite ends waiting for me to pretend i’m like all of you

and that’s true

except nights i understand my value

when you can find me on the front page of blank blank blank “today” or “telegraph” or whatever you want to call the pages splattered pollack like with information only relating a tradition that we have some connection to seeking truth

can you find me one?

a genuine, truthful, gentle heap of flesh who doesn’t cling to preparation for the next life

more strife?

i’m struggling to see through your blue blocker haze, it left me for days writhing in pain, as i slowly chiseled my words in stones outside your house until the reality that we can’t exist in a moment is captured and placed in a cage holding my head still watching the bird slowly lose the need for wings, and evolve into a position on the food chain as fodder alone

give or take the son-of-a-bitch

and those were the words you decided to hitch your family wagon on while slamming two for five dollar drinks with enough chemical energy chewing it’s way through ignorant nerves to cause you to swerve, and wish i’d cut you off, so you could go off, blow off, the head of a traitor only trying to find truth in the folded fabric of a flag used to brag that somehow you understand the past better than i, problem is, you never read a book

radio stations are modern day campfires where oral-tradition lies will give us another enemy-battle cry, or hero to try, and maybe this time it’ll be more believable than a white skinned man coming back from the dead

your sins won’t save you, neither will your disfigured dreams donning the newest fashion

you’re fucked

from a porch, caught in a cycle

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

intelligence

reversed reverence for what we might see walking forward

yet, we were signaled to stay put

wiggling defiantly through cracks in the foundation poured by the great-grandparents of dissidents who cease to pay homage to horrors displayed ensuring we can play with like-skinned caregivers

i coughed up the blood of my mothers birth

caught it in my hand

salty, full of sin, and preposterous

stupefied by language used to continue the spew of opinions without substance

i try to forget everything i know

reborn

innocence

from bed, hacking the breeze

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

relied upon institutions bastardized by a revolution of technology, masses conjure their imaginative egos pretending to have put in the time

fooling you, they’re real

discipline lost

paradise, long gone

sweet steven priest wrote a new song

i’m tricking myself that this poem, however long, contends with hughes, whitman, and what’s that haniel?

i belong

validation was cast in the lake of credentials, genuine appeal and voice discovered, developed and verified by the dirt under your nails, sunken eyes framed by the denial that everything is ok

prove myself

keep moving

they’re just as real

the words

i’m not the bash brothers containing my accomplishments with new blood juice, i’m letting loose the noose and finding an excuse to keep emitting emotion into an atmosphere of nobodies pressing ‘likes’, dismissing the possibility that i might have ‘something’ here

who wants to go first?

out on a limb

can’t cling to ironies ease, cackling, waiting for silence to assure you’re not alone when moments seized in the breeze of another’s sneeze and you said something

don’t bless me

dismiss me as a hack

why?

i don’t have a name?

selfish flying in internet space we ego-righteously claim it couldn’t be

just be

me

moving pictures of animal interactions are easy to digest

i’ll keep making meals lactose thick

i want you to hear me when i come out

influenced

contemplating a new page in this digital age, no one will define good for you

unless you join their monthly club

you made your box

now die in it

from bed, i’m done waiting

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

while opening the door to your mistakes

i was worried about you

wondering where you were hiding in a house you wouldn’t leave

comfort is the only thing i could rely on you needing, certainly not me

i opened every closet door slowly, a whiff of your memory wafted by the door as hinges creaked and i slowly peaked panting begging-breathes that you were ok

hide-and-go seek

i counted past ten, to twenty, i forgot how old you were, “i’m coming!”

you were in, and around, every corner

a piece of you

slippers wanted, never worn

family games shrink wrapped, never torn

children’s clothes, waiting to be born

he won’t be

to you

i can’t continue carrying my blood stains as a measure of our mistakes, misfortunate lakes-of-love, we used to paddle around in peddle boats pushing in unison to a shore where we found soft fertile ground waiting to be penetrated, holding the one memory we could have clung to

we didn’t, it proved to be fruitless

rains came and washed our seeds away

we saw it as wasted time

i need to get my stuff and go, i’ll leave the doors open, come out when you’re ready

i’ll never know

from bed, i have a hammer

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

forcing a voice over my own that sings the right chords and delivers a tone for you to remember long distance phone calls wrapped in a cord wishing your mom would come home instead of wandering countrysides picking up strange rides, to be plucked and prodded, poked along, left with a hollow soul outline for a song

where i belong is next in line

detours never bring comfort to the longing panics and strange outlines i trace on the back of childhood menus where they never understood my order

i didn’t get what i wanted

i couldn’t complain, shut up eat, we have to beat the rain that clouds above our heads, your precipitation filled words, language without verbs, adjectives to describe the way i let you down again

without this pen, the pressing of keys, i’d think about telling you how sorry i am that i had a bad day, i didn’t live up to the version of me i put in front of you to accept the facade i know you want to fuck without intimacy, that’s implied, a version of you shaking hands and casting sunlight glares with mirror eyed stares helps you rest assured that you are right

i’m nothing

a whore to your ego

i’ll bend, twist, rise, and fall, a sacrificial blow up doll without plastic creases leaving marks, smooth

who’s your pimp?

which way do you go after me for your hours of shaken soul confiscation and desertification?

from a counter, distracted by the day’s events

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

flames lick the fingers that i stick in honey buckets sitting on-top cherry tree splinters fallen at the hands of mythic creatures we distort through history, a placebo swallowed, no side affects

demons compelled to dance in the dark children’s screams fuck the sounds of our hearts beating for the last time, while biting ears ringing with humiliations birth, rattling through thighs, dripping with surprise as you look down to find nothing